


My Will Be Done

by Bishmonster



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bishmonster/pseuds/Bishmonster
Summary: Arthur reflects.If you have not watched this movie go do so now! Spoilers below!





	My Will Be Done

**Author's Note:**

> There's a Kylie Monogue song about this "I just can't get you out of my head" I believe is the lyric.

 

Lucy, his Lucy, was gone.

Arthur sat in front of the large stone hearth. The largest one he'd seen, and watched the fire blaze. The keep was quiet, all the knights gone to their beds, alone or not. The servants had been impatiently waived away from their duties.

For a moment, not the first and hopefully... not the last, there was peace. And quiet. Arthur's brain, the analytical, over achieving mechanism of plots and plans and predictions. Of calculating the next score, of fortifying the castle and wondering where the next attack was coming from, was stuck. It reminded him very much of the mud where the Lady of the Lake brought his sword back to him. Dark, dirty, thick and cloying. His breath was labored and his heart ached like he had, once again, climbed the mountain in the Darklands and then had to fight a two headed dragon.

His Lucy was gone, throat cut and bled out not a hundred yards from where he was seated next the stone floor, arms draped over his britches. Beautiful, sweet Lucy, whom had taken him out of that desolate boat as a babe and into the busom of her heart.

It was all his fault. He should've done something, anything! Tied up as he was ,there had been nothing he could've done. Well, he could've left the beard alone. Could've -not- humiliated the bastard Viking that had beat her. Arthur was aware he took too much pleasure from besting those who wronged him or his. Too many years taking it compared to how many he'd been dishing it out.

He'd had enough gold. He could've taken Lucy away, set them up in the country somewhere. His coffers were so heavy, he could've made Lucy a real Lady, neck dripping in precious stones.

But he hadn't, selfish greedy bastard that he was, and now, she was gone.

Forever.

Regret burned in his belly, hotter than any man made flame. More painful than the venom of the Mage's snakes. He had learned early on not to feel shame or guilt. The lifestyle of a bordello was equal parts exciting and degrading. The partying, the ale, the beautiful ladies and handsome men and not one damn ounce of respect from anyone using their services. Visitors came to feel superior. Arthur had never let it get to him. He kept his chin up, chest out, like Lucy had taught him.

Maybe it was because of the memories. The sometimes vague echo of soft hands, sweet singing, tinkling laughter of the woman he knew to be his mother. The distorted voice of his father whom had lifted him high and proclaimed him the most handsome of princes. Whom had sat him on his strong lap and told him stories of magic. The memory of their death had been so consuming for the past several years, Arthur had forgotten the less dramatic but more fortifying memories of family, of safety.

Lucy had been his family. Lucy had saved him and did her best to protect him. And he hadn't protected her.

"I know what it is you want."

He hadn't heard her approach. It chaffed to know she was the only one who could sneak up on him. Insisting upon it even though she knew how dangerous he could be, how unpredictable. He didn't want to hurt her, but sometimes, he wanted to teach her a lesson.

He did not respond to her taunt. He kept his chin up and his arms clasped around his knees. The flames danced wildly like the night Back Lack had gotten (stolen) some tainted mead, and by tainted he meant drugged. The entire house had seen a light show, had felt unleashed and free. It had been a right nice festival of dancing and laughter.

Arthur was not laughing now. Those days were long gone.

"I cannot give you what you want." The Mage stood behind him. Directly. The itch between his shoulder blades that never truly rested was spreading. He hated when she did that.

"I have not asked, nor will I." He stated, proud that his voice did not waver. "But it can be done?"

"It should not be done." She was very firm.

"But it can be. There is someone who..."

"You will cease this thinking. The damage is done. To bring her back now... she would not be the same. She would be of the Other World and to bring her here would make you like your predecessor. The sacrifice is too great."

"But it can be done." He whispered to himself for comfort.

"She is at rest now. Nothing here can hurt her anymore."

A delicate, cold hand touched the back of his head. He rolled his head to shake her off but she refused to remove her bony fingers.

"Mage," he warned.

"I can take it away." Her voice was like the coldest of winter nights. The mist of breath. "I can take your memory of her."

He jerked back and away too quickly, clumsily, the way he had as a boy when some of the customers had been looking for something less willing.

"No!" He hissed at her. "I do not want that. I do not need that."

"I only meant..." her switchy eyes looked imploringly at him. "The pain you feel..." she didn't finish her thought.

"I understand," she finally said, straightening slumped shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Two words he'd never thought he'd hear from Merlin's representative. They stared each other down after her apology, the fire crackling the only sound. He wished she would go. He wished the rules were different. He wished.... he wished... Suddenly, she was directly in front of him, where he knelt on both knees. She wiped at the wetness under his eyes, she palmed his head running her sharp nails through his hair first. He resisted her pull, but her strength of will was beyond his physical. Her brown eyes were as soft and as human as he had ever seen them.

He didn't know how long they fought each other, nor did he care. It was a battle he lost. He buried his head into her thin waist, arms banded around her, holding her as close to him now as he could. She squeaked forcing a watery chuckle out of him. His sobs were muffled by her emerald skirts, his tears mixed with the mud on her hem. She settled her hand back on his head, petting him like he had seen her do the giant hawk.

She might not be willing to give him what he wanted. But she gave him something he didn't know he needed. Something he would never have asked for either. A place to grieve. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am not abandoning "Running"


End file.
